


Brain Versus Brawn

by SusieBeeca



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Drunk Writing, F/F, Pre-Canon, The Trial spoilers, butch vs bitch, hahaha, my new wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusieBeeca/pseuds/SusieBeeca
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... a blacksmith meets a strange new customer.This is what happens when I pour out some gin and watch the new episodes. Enjoy!





	Brain Versus Brawn

When she heard the frantic knocking, Bismuth pinched the bridge of her nose and tried not to groan; stars, she’d _just_ closed shop two minutes ago, and the sign was clearly hung outside! Who the hell could it be?

The pounding just kept coming, louder and louder and more desperate by the minute. At first she tried to ignore it, but whoever was outside didn’t seem to be in a hurry to give up. With a sigh, she twisted her neck to the side until it let out an audible ‘crack’, and then braced herself, molars grinding together. Okay. Fine. One last customer, and then she was going home.

When she finally opened her doors, she stepped back in surprise. The gem standing in her doorway was shrouded in a thick blue robe that she clutched around her chest and face like armour. “Y-you can fix things, can’t you?” she hissed, obviously trying to disguise her voice.

Before Bismuth could answer, a hand darted out from under her cloak and shoved a hefty sack towards her. “Take it!”

She did, and tentatively weighed it in her palm; she couldn’t guess the exact amount, but whatever was inside felt like at least five times the commission she usually charged. “Uh...”

Her mysterious new customer shoved by her and bustled into the forge, her costume billowing behind her. “Come on!” she snapped, waving a hand over her shoulder. “For the love of the Diamonds, don’t linger in the doorway!”

_And I thought today was going to be boring._ Bismuth trailed after her with a hint of a grin on her face. “So, uh, what can I do for you?”

After a moment of shuffling, her customer drew a jagged, dinted sword from under her cloak and slapped it onto the anvil. “Fix this!”

She took a step forward, and the veiled gem jumped back with a startled cry. “Hey, take it easy,” Bismuth said as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the weapon, hoisting it up to check its centre of gravity. “I ain’t gonna bite.”

She tried to ignore the sound of the other gem nervously shifting from foot to foot as she tilted the blade upward to check its alignment. Damaged weapons weren’t new to her, but this was pretty rare---whatever had happened to it had to be something serious. The point, blade, and fuller were all skewed in different directions, and the pommel was barely hanging on.

“Good thing you paid in advance,” she chuckled, placing it back on the anvil. “This is gonna need a lot of work before it’s back in fighting condition.”

“Can you do it?”

“Of course I can, but it’ll take some time.” 

“That’s a limited resource,” she grumbled, folding her arms under the cloak. “I’ll need it in ten---no, nine hours’ time.”

Bismuth shook her head, still smiling, and lightly skimmed the blade under the nearest lava flow. “Give me three, and it’ll be back in fighting condition.”

“For the price I paid, it had _better_ be!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, drawing the now-molten cutlass from the river of slag. She eyed the trembling, tremulous little gem who was hunched down by her collection of maces, and gave her a wink. “Make yourself comfy, why don’t you?”

~

The next half-hour sorely tested the blacksmith’s nerves. Every time she brought her hammers down, her customer would go dancing around behind her, squawking and squealing and demanding to know the precise details of what she was doing. 

“It needs to look good as new!” that obnoxious voice rang out for what had to be the sixtieth time. “And it can’t show signs of repair! You can do that, can’t you?”

Bismuth lifted her steaming hand from her workspace and formed it into a fist. She knew she didn’t have to shake it to look intimidating. “Why. Don’t. You. Take. A. Seat?” she said through gritted teeth.

The quiet ‘eep!’ and shuffling sounds from somewhere to her left assured her that her guest had taken the hint.

“That’s better.” She paused to run a thumbnail over the groove of the fuller; she’d worked out most of the kinks, and if she added a new coating it would hide most of the scratches. Her toe brushed against the bag her guest had offered, and she finally turned to her with as genuine a smile as she could force out. “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” she said with a strained geniality. “Let’s get to know each other a bit better, huh?”

The tremor that went through the smaller gem shook the robes around her body. “W-what d-do you want to know?”

_Aw, she stutters. That’s cute._ “Where you from?”

An officious little sniff preceded her words: “I come from a place where we know that prepositions shouldn’t end sentences.”

Bismuth raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then: where you from, _cunt?_ ”

She couldn’t help but smirk when her customer gasped and recoiled in horror. “Why you---! How dare---! I could have you impounded for that!”

“No you couldn’t.” With one final whack, she got the pommel back in place. She made a show of dipping the weapon into the lava, turning her glinting eyes to her new friend. “You came in here with dirty money, begging for a favour. Do you really wanna take the risk of bringing this before a judge?”

The cowardly cringe made her laugh. “Didn’t think so.”

“I’ll have you know,” she snarled---or, at least, tried to---“That I have friends in high places!”

Bismuth whistled her breath over the blade and nodded in satisfaction as she watched the flames flicker out into useless smoke. “Really? Would these ‘friends’ of yours like to know all about your dirty little dealings?”

With a practiced flip, she landed the sword back on her anvil---and before her customer could scramble away, she pounced on her and yanked the hood off of her flushed, frightened face. Bismuth’s rough fingers fisted into the delicate lace cravat, and she pulled her up so they were face-to-face.

“Or,” she murmured, “Would you rather pay to keep this under the rug? Huh? What’ll it be, **Zircon?** ”

Her pointy nose snivelled up as she tried her best to grimace. “T-take your hand off my best tie and we’ll talk.” 

“I don’t think so.”

They glared at each other for a moment---and then the shriek Bismuth let out nearly split the rafters apart.

“You know what?” Zircon whispered... and angled her thigh a little higher. It was difficult to tell through the blacksmith’s thick pants, but she thought she’d felt a trace of moisture there. “ _I like you_.”

Cold, spindly fingers were roaming along her back, and despite herself, Bismuth bit her lip and shuddered.

“You’re stubborn, you’re uppity, and you’re absolutely insufferable.” She tried to slap her palm down on Bismuth’s ass, but missed by a few feet. No matter---she’d still left a stinging welt on her skin. “You’re aggravating,” she went on, even as Bismuth started to rut her hips against her, “You’re obstinate!”

Bismuth’s flat teeth nipped up along her hairline, and Zircon’s thighs began to spasm.

“You---you---you worthless, detestable, loathsome, indefensible _clod!!_ ” 

Bismuth felt hot, she felt steamy, she felt almost _there_ \---and then that querulous little bitch pressed her wet lips up against her ear: 

“Mmmm... You’d make an _amazing_ lawyer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ho-kay, so I wanted to do one of those fake-ass M Night Shyamalan you-can-see-the-"twist"-coming-a-mile-away thingies. Also, I'm drunk. And Zircon is my new wife. And I really want to illustrate this at some point. :3
> 
> Oh, have some jokes!   
> Why are lawyers like baseballs? People cheer when you hit them with a bat!  
> Why are lawyers buried twelve feet under? Because, DEEP DOWN, they're nice people!  
> Why are lawyers like sperm cells? Because they both have a one in three hundred billion chance of becoming human!


End file.
